I think I can make it
The end is almost here
Im already there I can feel it
The finish line becoming clearer
My life isn’t finished
And neither am I
Dreams extinguished
I must say goodbye
I think I can escape
This endless cycle of death
That keeps rewinding like a tape
As I keep
Taking
My
Last
B    r      e       a        t           h

I want to be loved so bad
That romance movies make me sad
I want someone to kiss me on the forehead
And someone to tuck me into bed

Someone to be there when I’m upset
Someone to help me forget
And instead make me laugh and smile
Someone to think that I’m worthwhile
To let me snuggle in their lap
And take a four hour long nap

I want someone to hold me
When I’m so scared I can’t see
When I’m so exhausted and can’t walk
And all day listen to me talk
I just
Would love to have someone love me

Facing your fears
That cause all your tears
Will only end it all
If those fears have a name to call
Think on it for a few:
Do the things that scare you
Have a name?
I think that
Demons need names too

I think that
To write
You have to feel
You have to dig down deep
And tear open your heart
Pull out all of the emotions
That you’ve buried for so long
Then bleed, bleed onto the paper
Your inner turmoil scrawled in blood
Bleed yourself dry of all emotion
Claw it out of your chest
And onto paper
In the hopes that somebody
Maybe just somebody
Has felt like you too

The best source of warmth
Comes from feet intertwined
And pairs of legs crossed
It comes from two hearts
Beating as one
It comes from the closeness
And the breath of another
The best source of warmth
Comes from arms holding
And eyes gazing
It comes from a body
That is not your own
But belongs to the person
Who now holds you
Close to their heart

The author reached into her book
And over her characters she took
She attached strings to the humans
Led them to their happiness or ruin
Controlled who they became
And made not one the same

She painted trees with her eyes
And created mountains and skies
She let the scenes drip from her fingers
Onto the pages as her influence lingers
She slowly created worlds and wars
Fabricated houses and hidden doors

She plunged into her story without a thought
And the rest of reality she forgot
She painted with her mind body and soul
A masterpiece of her own control

From her tale and made up lands
She slowly removed her hands
and the author came back to the world
To recreate her story already once told